* * Encountering AT through-hikers

Whenever I can spare the time I go hiking on the Appalachian Trail.  This 2200 mile footpath from Georgia to Maine is at its closest point about 20 miles from my house.

One of my frequent hiking partners is a youngster named Kyle Knight who is a graduate student in aerospace engineering at Virginia Tech.  He got his undergraduate degree at a small college in North Carolina.  His parents apparently are friends with my father’s sister and brother-in-law.  They put him in touch with me because they knew I lived near Virginia Tech.  We hit it off and have been hiking together ever since.  He’s great company; he’s pleasant and intelligent, with impressive insight for someone his age.

On Saturday, Kyle and I took a hike near Catawba.  I chose a section of trail that, although it is in close proximity to the house, I had never hiked before.  The reason I had never done it is that it is a generally low elevation walk and not as spectacular as many of the higher elevations ridgeline walks in the area.  The reasons I chose it this time was because there was a high probability of rain and I wanted to stay lower and because I needed to be home early.

The weather was mostly overcast.  The temperature was cool and pleasant.  A light T-shirt without any additional wrap was comfortable.  The trees were wrapped in new leaves and everything was brilliant green, vibrant and fragrant.

We parked on Mount Tabor Road where there is space for only one car on the wide shoulder where the trail crosses.  The trail immediately ascends a small ridgeline, crests out, and drops down the other side.  We were delighted to find a beautiful creek where there was a small dam and what was evidently a foundation for a long-gone water-powered mill.

We crossed State Route 785 which in Montgomery County is called Catawba Road and in Roanoke County is called Blacksburg Road.  Much of this area is open pastureland with extensive views of this beautiful valley.  We crossed Catawba Creek on a nice foot bridge and ascended the ridgeline of Catawba Mountain to the south, reentering the forest. We walked into a northeasterly direction along the ridge line for a couple more miles before finding a nice place to stop and have lunch.

On our return leg, we encountered several through-hikers on their way to Maine. All were walking alone.  The first was a young man who we watched ascend Catawba Mountain as we were descending.  The purposeful form and speed he exhibited as he strode uphill was truly dramatic.  As he passed, we chatted.  He had been on the trail for two months.  He told us that in the early going, there was a significant amount of snow on the mountains south of and into the Great Smokies. He told us that he typically averaged 2-1/2 miles per hour, although one day in deep snow he only managed to walk 10 miles in 7 hours of hard work.  “I am typically walking anywhere from 18 to 25 miles each day,” he said.  “On a couple of occasions, I have walked 30 miles in a single day.”  I asked him about his pack and what he was carrying.  He said, “Like most through-hikers, I went through a process during the first few weeks of paring down what I was carrying.  My toothbrush is only 3 inches long.  I mailed my raincoat home.  These days, it is warm enough so that if it is raining, you pick your poison.  You either get wet by the rain or you get wet from the inside by your sweat.”  I asked him if he had had any really down days.  He admitted that trudging through drifts of snow was very tedious.  “Still, every day out here on the trail is better than my best days back at work.”

Only moments later, we encountered another gentleman who was intending to walk all the way to Maine.  This man was in his early 60s. His mileages were less impressive than the younger fellow but were impressive nonetheless.

We reached the car and were back in Blacksburg in the early afternoon.  I continued to think about the feats of strength and stamina exhibited by these through-hikers.

Early the following morning, I awoke in my comfortable waterbed, listening to the rain pouring down outside.  As contented as I was, I couldn’t help but envision myself out there on the trail somewhere.